“Since when have these zigzags taken the place of the straight avenue?” I asked.
“Four years ago, Sir—about a year after the settling in of Mr. Learne in the château.”
“Do you know the meaning of them? You may speak freely. I am the professor’s nephew.”
“Oh, well, he’s ... he’s, well an eccentric man.”
“What sort of unusual things does he do?”
“Oh, well, nothing. One hardly ever sees him. That’s just the funny part of it. Before he took this higgledy-piggledy into his head, one met him often. He used to walk about in the country, but ever since then ... well, he does take the train to Grey once a month.”
So all my uncle’s eccentricities came to a head at the same epoch; the maze and the different style of his letters coincided as to date. Something at that time had profoundly influenced his mind.
“And what about his companions?” I went on, “the Germans?”
“Oh, as for them, Sir, they are invisible. Moreover, although I go to Fonval six times a week I do not remember when I last clapped eyes on the park. It’s Mr. Lerne himself who comes to the gate for his letters. Oh, what a change! Did you know old John? Well, he’s gone, and his wife too. It’s as true as I’m talking to you, Sir. No more coachman, no more housekeeper ... no more horses.”
“That’s been so for four years, you say?”